AN: Aaaaand...here's Mike's story! I really enjoyed writing this one. And I hope you enjoy reading it!

Mike hit "play" on his stereo, turning the volume way down so as to not wake his parents. The soundtrack for the first "Step Up" movie came through the speakers, and Mike closed his eyes, feeling every pulse, every note in his muscles. He moved as if from memory, sliding his feet across his hardwood floor, using his arms and hands to echo every beat.

He let his thoughts drift as he moved seamlessly around his room. Mike thought back to the happiest day of his life (so far, anyway). He could pin it down to an exact moment.

It was the moment that Mercedes, bless her loudmouth interfering ways, noticed him doing finger waves and finger-tutting along to Mr. Schue's white-boy rapping. She'd interrupted Mr. Schue loudly, proclaiming Mike the better dancer – even though the only body part he was using was his fingers. She'd tugged Mike to his feet and demanded he kick Mr. Schue's ass at dancing. And for the first time outside the comfort of his own room – Mike danced.

Mike danced the way he'd always dreamed of dancing – for an audience of cheering people, not just for the action figures lining his bookshelf. Mike danced the style he'd always wanted to dance in public – his own smooth, fluid interpretation of pop-and-locking, spinning on his feet and head and back like he'd seen all the b-boys do in YouTube videos.

Mike never danced outside of his room because it definitely wasn't cool for a guy like Mike – a jock, a guy fairly high up on the social ladder at McKinley – to dance the way he did, or really to dance at all. The only kind of dancing acceptable for a guy like Mike was to sway back and forth awkwardly at school dances, for the sole purpose of trying to cop a feel of the hot girl in his arms. Dancing for any other reason at all – well, you'd be mocked mercilessly and labeled "Gay with a capital G."

But that wasn't the only reason Mike never danced outside his room. More than calling unwanted attention to himself at McKinley, he was afraid of disappointing his parents.

Ever since he was a kid, his parents had admonished him for never being able to keep his feet or hands still. The dinner table would shake from his jiggling knee; his mother would hold both his hands in public to keep him from tapping a rhythm out on anything he could find. His parents, immigrants trying to make their way in America and blend in as best as they could, were constantly exasperated at the lack of decorum from their son.

His parents just thought that he had extra pent-up energy, and encouraged him to dispense of it by participating in sports – football, baseball – healthy American pastimes that could only help their son fit in with his American peers. If Mike ever told them that his extra pent-up energy was the result of his desire to bust loose and dance – they'd look down sadly, remind him of just how hard they had worked to come to America, and how dancing was a waste of time. According to his parents, if it wasn't going to help him get to Yale or Harvard or Princeton (the only 3 colleges worth attending), then it was automatically a waste of time.

Football would look good on his college applications, right next to his straight-As, and his volunteer work at the local soup kitchen. Dancing – dancing was a frivolity. And until Glee, Mike hadn't been able to find a way to justify dancing to his parents. When he first joined Glee and had to explain why he was taking on even more extra-curriculars, he'd fought hard, claiming that Glee – something musical and artsy – could only make him look even more well-rounded to the admissions people at Harvard, Yale and Princeton.

Mike hadn't really tried pushing his luck with his parents before. As much as he resented it, deep down, Mike understood the responsibility on his lanky shoulders. Even though his father worked as a doctor, he would get patients every so often who wouldn't trust him to give them a proper diagnosis because of his accented English. And every now and again, his parents would get mistaken for the owners of the local Laundromat, or the local Chinese take-out place. Deep down, Mike understood that his parents felt that if they could produce and mold a bona fide American son, then they would finally have earned their citizenship too.

But Glee was worth fighting for. Glee was worth pushing his luck with his parents. Mike had lingered a little longer than any normal person would outside of Ballet Club a few times. And once, out of sheer desperation to find someplace he could dance, he'd almost pushed open the door and joined Ballet Club, even though it was about as far from his style as you could get. Hearing Rachel Berry's maddening voice boss everyone around from behind the door sealed Mike's decision to walk away.

It was pure irony that only a few weeks after that, he ended up in Glee Club with one Miss. Rachel Berry.

Mike could kiss Coach Tanaka square on the lips for making the football team learn "Single Ladies," and for basically paving the way for Mike to join Glee. Singing and dancing on a stage – whether for an audience, or for nobody but Mr. Schue – Mike felt he was home.

In Glee, being yourself was cool. And Mike, just being Mike, was accepted with open arms by these people that, frankly, didn't give a shit what other people thought of them. They just did what they loved, and Mike was happy to be one of them, even if it made him a freak.

Mike had used Glee as an excuse to go to dance classes, persuading his parents that if he took classes, he'd get better and then Glee could win at Regionals and maybe even at Nationals. And a winning Glee Club would look even better than just a Glee Club on his college applications.

But it had all been for nothing. They hadn't won at Regionals. Glee Club was over. And now Mike was back at square one, with no reason to give his parents for continuing to "waste time" on dance. Even though they had dutifully shown up at all of his Glee Club performances, just like they did to all of his football games, he knew they wouldn't understand if he wanted to keep taking dance classes. Especially since next year, he'd be a junior, and one year closer to applying for college.

Maybe he'd join Ballet Club. Now that he'd spent a year with Rachel in Glee – he'd learned that she wasn't always so bad. The year's events, and her friendships with the Glee-clubbers, had mellowed her. He could find a way to justify Ballet Club to his parents – and he'd handle Karofsky and his band of jerks just fine. Mike might be skinny and not at all scary-looking, but he was deceptively strong.

Mike refused to let anyone ever make him feel too ashamed to dance, or make him feel like it was a waste of time, again. If anything, that's what Glee taught him – not how to sing better or dance better – but that you can't hide from who you are, and that it's worth fighting for what you love.

Hell, maybe Mike would even take some initiative, and start his own dance club. He wouldn't need funding from Figgins, if they just did it for fun and didn't compete. All he would need is a boom box and some willing bodies. And if Glee Club was really going to be over, then he had an inkling just where he could drum up some members.

"I was afraid to dance outside of my room."